Le Maison des Bons Temps
by AnonM1ss
Summary: Misao resolves to embrace womanhood, with full support from the Aoiya. Once Aoshi finds out who is giving her etiquette lessons; however, he unleashes questions Misao is ill-equipped to answer. Meanwhile, Aoshi has been doing some sneaking around lately..
1. Chapter 1

**Les Maison des Bon Temps**

Chapter 1: Tedium

Life had become tedious for Misao. If she had known more about her Western counterparts, she'd consider the expression 'clocking in and out' perfect to suit her sentiments about the passing of time and adulthood. She dutifully raised the rag up to the windowsill, giving it a vigorous wipe, cleansing the glass of greasy fingerprints before she gave her reflection a half-hearted smile. The sun was beginning to darken, and she had finished the last room left for spring airing. Briefly noticing the smudges on her wrists and forearms, she rolled up the sleeves that threatened to slip past her elbows, picked up the cleaning supplies and left the room. _Kimono in half an hour_, her mind chanted, _not nearly enough time to bathe_. Past the corridor, down the stairs, Misao walked briskly into the kitchen, depositing the supplies in the hamper and putting a large kettle to boil. She grabbed a couple of clean rags and a large bin and placed them on the table. Taking the seat nearest to the stove, she closed her eyes for a bit, and let her mind run loose. She cherished these few moments of bliss in an otherwise long day.

She lost track of time. All of a sudden, she was awake, with no knowledge of having ever fallen asleep. She could hear the kettle begin to sputter, the fire warming the metal. It was a change of air circulating swiftly in the kitchen that alerted Misao of another presence. When she opened her eyes, she saw Aoshi-sama in the doorway, staring down at her. Misao looked back at him mildly, unsurprised. For a man his height, Aoshi-sama moved with the utmost stealth and quiet. She raised a hand in a half-hearted attempt to wave, and made an equally tepid attempt at a smile. She could have sworn that he wavered a bit by the doorframe, flickering in the gaslight, but she didn't hear the sound of his feet or the scrape of his clothes against the wood. She closed her eyes for a bit, unbelievably tired, and just a smidge frustrated that she still hadn't figured out how to handle these situations with Aoshi-sama.

"You haven't been resting enough, Misao."

Misao smiled suddenly, albeit in a wry fashion. Aoshi was the only man she knew whose questions could inhabit the tone of a statement. "Yes—no," she admitted, opening her eyes lazily, sad she didn't have an excuse greater than: "It's just the etiquette lessons… added to the normal office work and spring cleaning, I haven't had much time to myself."

"Etiquette lessons."

"Ano, ne…" She coughed lightly, clearing up her throat. Her voice had come out much lower and rougher than she had thought. She could see Aoshi looking at her from his height, his shoulders squared, and back straight. In moments like this, when she had his full attention, Misao often wished she didn't. _Best get this over with_…

"I just thought it was a good idea," she grimaced, "about a year ago, it came to mind that I was sorely lacking in an upbringing that would allow me to become familiar with myself as a woman."

Aoshi stared down at her, his eyes flickering over her face, and she felt the need to clarify further, "I have a friend from town, Haruto-san, and he… he offered, and I thought, 'Why not?', and Okina didn't see any—"

"This Haruto-san… he is giving you etiquette lessons?"

Misao snorted, "Hardly. His sister, Chieko-san, and a group of friends have started to… _eh_, dote on me. Fine, I was their lost cause. Happy?"

Aoshi walked over and took a seat across hers and put both hands over the table, crossing his fingers and placing them in front of him. This made Misao uneasy. Behind her, the kettle began to let out small hisses of steam. He lowered his eyes, intent on his hands before him. "Chieko-san and Haruto-san are from which family?"

_Yeesh, what was with the twenty questions today?_

"Inoue. Inuoue Haruto and Inuoue Chieko, offspring of a firstborn son, a merchant striving towards nobility. The father exports fine inks, paper, and adhesives to Britain, France, and Portugal."

Aoshi was unperturbed by Misao's flippant rendition of the Oniwabanshuu report response. He had long grown used to her sass. "Their ages?"

Misao blinked. He had never really cared much for accounts of her life outside of the Aoiya. She wondered if Okina had set him to inquire after her…

"Haruto-san is twenty-six, and Chieko-san is twenty-four. I met them at a store—a garment store, in fact. It was a mess. Omasu and Okon had taken me there to get me suited for my first kimono, and I nearly had an accident with Ha—" Misao caught herself, and smiled demurely, "Well, that was nearly a year ago. Since then, we've run into each other while doing errands in town, and one thing led to the next… now we're good friends!"

Aoshi had unclasped his hands, and leaned back a bit. Misao blinked again. She was unaware that he had been leaning forward. He stood up smoothly, the sound of his trousers sliding over the seat as he said, "Good. I am satisfied you have found companionship out in town. It is befitting a lady your age in these days to open her circle of acquaintance."

Misao smiled out of habit, asking sweetly, "And you, Aoshi-sama? What have you been up to, lately?"

Dark hair fringed his blue eyes and he shrugged once, twice in eloquent dismissal, "Inquiries that take me out of town. I am looking into some opportunities."

Misao felt a sudden rush of cold emotion well up. _The fear that he would suddenly… she had thought she had this under control_. Head bowed and thoughts swarming her mind, she didn't register Aoshi approach her. Warm hands picked up hers—she had picked up the nervous habit of wringing her hands from Omasu—and gently untangled her fingers. "This is a new project I started for the Aoiya, not the Oniwabanshuu. Okina is aware of my motions and agrees with my decision."

Relief, then embarrassment swept over Misao. To let him know he still had such power over her! She stood up abruptly and moved over to the stove, removing the whistling kettle from the fire. She bit her lip, unsure of what to say. She could see him in the corner of her eye, and—

"Ouch!" She had burned herself with some of the boiling water, spilling out of the kettle's snout. In her shock, she dropped the kettle and gasped sharply, raising her arms to shield her face. She braced herself for the pain, her eyes smarting already in anticipation. In an instant, she felt the heavy presence of another laid straight across her body, one arm around her back and… Misao peeked around Aoshi-sama's torso to see that the other gloved hand had caught the kettle's handle perfectly and laid it down on the stove. Not even a drop spilled. _Damn those skills_, she sighed, stepping away from him. The arm tightened around her, and she could feel his voice emerge from his chest and rumble down her spine, "Cancel your lesson for tonight. You are tired."

Misao pushed against his torso, her eyebrows pinned down in displeasure, "Mou, Aoshi-sama! You can't just... It's the only thing I've been—it's a commitment!"

Aoshi's lips had tightened firmly, "Then it is a commitment you will break."

Misao opened her lips again to protest, but Aoshi cut her off, "Tell me where you meet with Haruto-san, and I will deliver the message myself."

Misao glared, "I meet with Chieko-san in the back of her floral shop, the one with the weird, foreign name, M-Maisudo Botempsu—"

"Le Maison des Bon Temps," Aoshi murmured, correcting her in gentle reflex. It was rather difficult to break years of ingrained habit. "What time do you usually arrange your meetings?"

"Five o'clock, but I can really—"

"Do not concern yourself with the excuses."

Beyond aggravation, Misao gave into childishness and tapped her foot aggressively, "Aoshi-sama! Has anyone ever told you it's _rude_ to interrupt a lady?"

Silence cloaked them, and suddenly both were aware that they had entered uncharted territory. This happened every once in a while, more frequently so when Aoshi had moved back to Kyoto after his travels, but had all but disappeared once Aoshi had retreated to the temple, and Misao had changed her campaign to…

Aoshi cleared his throat. Misao checked her urge to growl. He was even interrupting her train of thought! "It is usually considered impolite," Aoshi offered, "To interrupt a lady of formal acquaintance, a guest or a stranger. This does apply to females with whom one shares long-standing familiarity."

"Right, so I guess that means that I can do the same!"

Aoshi continued as if he hadn't heard a call for all-out war, "It has come to mind recently, however, that you are a female with whom I no longer familiar."

She froze. A female… no longer familiar. With the particular way that Aoshi phrased things, it was impossible to determine what he meant.

"Was that an insult or a compliment?"

Suddenly, Aoshi released her, and shifted towards the door, "A statement. There was no underlying intention. I will see Haruto-san and deliver your excuses."

"YOUR excuses, Aoshi-sama! Not mine!"

_Le Maison des Bon Temps_ was a small, warm looking shop sandwiched between a cobbler and kimono shop. In fact, the kimono shop on the right was where Misao and the Inuoues first met. Aoshi was greatly familiar with the street, because he would go to the senior Inuoue's stationery store to stock up on his office supplies. Inuoue's ink was the best he could find in Kyoto. He had never met the man, because he was primarily a supplier with a satellite shop in Kyoto, but he had heard stories from old Harada-san, who tended the storefront. Both the stationery store and the floral shop were successful, because of the seamless integration of Western products, they were seen as purveyors of novelties at the same time that they sold Japanese products of known, comforting quality. He had seen the young lady Inuoue-san run errands from time to time, taking note of her deep, brown hair and the elegant way she walked. It would do Misao no harm to take tips from the young lady. He turned left, and walked into the stoor, the bell twinkling lightly, and leaned against the wall to wait for someone to show up.

Misao took the heavy kettle and poured it into the basin. In the relative safety of her room, she stripped behind the dressing screen quickly. The balmy afternoon was rapidly coming a chilly night. Misao's teeth chattered slightly as she ran the wet washcloth over her skin. She felt tired, glum, and insouciantly curious about the turn of events. Aoshi-sama had made her feel like a character worthy of suspicion with all his questions about her trips to town… no, actually, he appeared to question her choice of company! Grinding her teeth, she wringed the clothe forcefully, muttering about Aoshi-sama's lingering paternal instincts. It wasn't like Aoshi-sama had to answer to anyone! If Misao was an adult, she hardly had to answer to him, nor Jiya, nor Okon… oh, hell. Therein lay the problem.

Misao was accustomed to juvenile treatment. And she had to admit that even that was wearing down, now that she had begun to take on the mantle of responsibility. The fact that the efforts she made to appear more respectable sparked Aoshi-sama's wariness riled her up in ways she thought she had succeeded in burying. After all, she had spent three years living with the man, three years reversing her intentions… She growled to herself, pushing wet strands of her hair away from her face. It wasn't as if Aoshi-sama was above reproach! Aoshi-sama had taken to walks at odd times of the day, returning way past midnight. Sometimes, he would come back with signs of heavy labor or effort, streaks of dirt on his clothes, and tears on his hands. Still, no one considered questioning _him_ on his motives, or stats on who he spent his time with. In fact, with all things considered, Aoshi-sama was being rather _sneaky_ lately. She no longer brought his tea to him at the temple, so she was surprised to overhear Okon and Omasu in the kitchen talk about their relief that Aoshi had quit the temple to instate a new plan, only to hear their voices drop when she turned the corner. And that had been last fall. At first, she was worried, but then the cold weather began to drift in, and Aoshi-sama stayed indoors. She could often find him in the office or the dojo, otherwise, he would go downtown for errands, and Misao's mind settled down again.

She sighed and dropped the washcloth into the soapy water with resignation and just a touch of resentment. If she had known her wholehearted campaign to become proper would extinguish her spirit so thoroughly, she would have preferred to stay in her perpetual limbo, her body frozen forever in the lean, straight lines of her girl-boyhood. As it was, one day she awoke to find her onmitsu shorts stretched far across her hips, and short enough to court unwanted commentary. That day was the first last spring that truly warranted the outfit, with wilting sakura blossoms underfoot, and the lingering scent covering the smell of charcoal, oil, and burnt lumber. After a winter of bundled yukatas and her first ventures into wearing kimonos, she was flabbergasted to find that she had undergone the last spurts of growth. She had grown a handful of centimenters, and Omasu had measured her for another kimono. Afraid she had grown fat at first, the women had twittered, only to strip her and push her in front of the mirror. Only in her slip, the women proceeded to push and prod at places she never knew she had grown, so accustomed was she to binding her chest flat, and living the sparse life of a young male bachelor. They suited her up with new undergarments, and had just started fitting her into the inner layers of her kimono when a young man had opened the door by mistake.

When the door opened, Haruto-san had no knowing that he had unlocked utter chaos. Misao, out of habit, reached for her kunai and remembered she was in a store for a _fitting_, so she promptly plucked one of her shoes and threw it at his head, instead. Haruto covered his eyes in embarrassment, explaining over Okon and Omasu's laughter that he thought that he was walking into the supply closet, not a changing room when the shoe met him rather forcefully on the head. This succeeded in sending Okon and Omasu into greater rapture as they attempted to cover Misao with a curtain. After things had settled down, Haruto apologized gallantly, taking to heart that he had offended a lady, and since this was the first man around her age to make her acquaintance as a woman, she decided they would make good friends.

Only a matter of minutes had passed when he heard the door open again, and a voice call out in strong yet measured tones, "Chieko! Has she arrived yet?" The man who had entered wore a polished Western suit in deep, navy blue, and in his hand he held a small package with pretty tinsel. Aoshi looked over at him in contemplation, and inclined his head in slight greeting when the young man took note of his presence and greeted him with a respectful bow.

The sounds of soft footsteps announced Chieko's presence, and a young, tall, elegant woman with intricately bound hair and sensitive eyes emerged from the curtains, "Onii-san! No, I haven't heard anyone enter the—" Eyes flickered towards Aoshi, and Chieko stopped, gathering her hands in front of her with a polite, practiced bow. "Iraishaimase," she intoned, "How may I help you today?"

Aoshi pushed off the wall to give a small bow that befitted the lady before him and said, "Misao intended to keep her promise for today's engagement, but she has been in charge of spring cleaning at the Aoiya this week, and was too tired to come."

He saw Chieko and Haruto exchange swift glances before Haruto smiled, "That certainly hasn't kept her before. Is Misao-chan unwell?"

Aoshi was uncertain of how he felt hearing Haruto-san address Misao so affectionately. He shrugged elegantly, dispassionately, "She was preparing to leave when I saw her. She had almost had an accident due to her fatigue, and I told her to stay and rest."

Haruto's mouth lost the smile, and he looked at Aoshi with an indiscernible look in his eyes. Aoshi noted that Haruto was uncommonly tall, and that the two men almost met at eye level. Chieko stepped forward to break the awkward silence, her wrists flitting upwards in a graceful, appeasing gesture, "We are sorry to hear this! Misao is a treasured guest to us. We were hoping she would come tonight, especially since…"

Haruto stepped closer to his sister, nodding, "We were hoping to end the lesson with a foray into Western manners." He smiled disarmingly, "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid we weren't introduced to you properly. You are Misao's…?"

Again, Aoshi felt uncertainty. Here was a question that Aoshi could not answer directly. Before, he was her guardian, her Okashira and father figure. Now, in the Meiji era and all those years apart, he was not certain of where he fit into the picture. He and Misao shared lodging. He and Misao were both once ninjas. He and Misao were… "We are like family," he responded, pleased he found no compromise, "I was her guardian until she became of age."

Chieko and Haruto let out laughter that sounded sincere. Chieko smiled, her mahogany hair spilling one shoulder, "Sou desu ka? Anyone who considers Misao family is welcome here. Are you the one she refers to as 'Aoshi-sama'?"

Turning to address the sister, Aoshi nonetheless saw the brother move from the corner of his eye. The parcel disappeared behind Haruto, and he leaned back onto a seat with both arms empty. "Aa," intoned Aoshi, "I am Shinomori Aoshi. I reside at the Aoiya along with Misao and the rest."

Both siblings bowed their heads lightly, "It is a pleasure to meet you, Aoshi-san." Aoshi saw no reason to linger, so he bowed with a measure longer than normal, and then left as quietly as he had entered.

Once on the street, Aoshi felt the brisk air chill his face and welcomed it with closed eyes. A sudden surge of questions submerged him. Who were these people? Why did they seem to unsettle things he had forgotten for so many years? Where did these questions about Misao come from? What was in the package?

Haruto smiled at his sister before his eyes settled on the package in his eyes. He kept his gaze down deliberately as he asked, "What do you think about Shinomori-san?"

Chieko laughed, the sound like bells, "He is exactly the way she described him, and more, even."

"Intrigued, sister?"

"Those two positively reek of shared history and intrigue, and you know that I enjoy nothing more than…"

"… a good story."

Misao was putting on her undergarments with a slight frown. She saw several bruises on her body, including a rather large one at her hip. She figured she would have to tone down on her time spent in the dojo, that gentle treatment of her body was part and parcel with the whole lady image. She wasn't as torn up about the idea as she thought she would be. If she had to face such commitments at sixteen, she would have definitely raised a ruckus over the decision. As such, she found she was resigned, if not a bit excited, about turning over her adolescence for adulthood, even if it could be dull from time to time. She found that as her body changed, the role she held in society changed more than any of her self-proclaimed statements of strength, optimism and infatuation ever had. Her decision to wear a kimono was greeted with more of a reaction than her decision to take over as Okashira in Aoshi's stead. Okon and Omasu were mindful of her curves, and Okina made sure to leer at her whenever possible. Shiro and Kuro were suddenly unwilling to spar with her, and the last time Yahiko-kun visited, she had caught him staring at her a number of times.

All these reactions, and none from Aoshi-sama…

Misao let down her braid and parted her hair. She fluttered around her room listlessly as she ran the comb through her hair.

In his eyes, she might as well have continued as the girl-boy sprite she had been for all of her childhood. In fact, her parents had been convinced 'she' would be born a 'he'. Okina, a man who wasn't growing younger by any accounts, seemed to remember he had a vast reservoir of childhood stories concerning Misao and had lately found a deep-seated satisfaction in recounting them to the customers, deliverymen, neighbors, and generally any sympathetic listener within the vicinity of the Aoiya. Misao sighed. Contrary to belief, these stories were not inherently amusing. The account of her birth, for example, had left her father stunned, Okina claimed, one of the few times he had been unprepared for a situation. Her mother, languishing in bed, the blood of her body already leaking out, smiled softly and said, "We proceed as planned. We shall call her Misao." And so here she was.

For years, Misao secretly wondered if her body was cursed. Cursed to keep its slim, shapelessness, stuck in the perpetual youth of a prepubescent boy. She had obsessed those years, waiting for Aoshi-sama, hoping and fearing that what she had, who she came as, would be enough for him. By the time Himura brought him back to her, Misao found her insecurities had not ceased, but rather had been submerged by the introduction of greater priorities, more significant circumstances to dwell over. Like how to get Aoshi-sama to smile for her.

That had been nearly three years ago. Plenty enough time for smiles, tears, and laughter, but no kisses. At this point, Misao decided to amend the campaign she had set at sixteen. She found that, despite her daily visits to the temple, the countless cups of tea served and consumed, and the words she wove to inspire conversation, the results were oddly satisfying and lacking at the same time. Satisfying, because she was getting reacquainted with Aoshi-sama. Satisfying because he never again wore the look of listless, potent death in his eyes. Satisfying because she saw his progress, the thawing of pain into a normal yet satisfactory existence. And ultimately lacking because the time he took to find himself was running out for her.

Aoshi-sama would take his time; he had undergone trials that would send any other man to an early death. He had carried his dead companion's bodies across Japan and resolved to put them at rest. He had encountered and challenged Japan's strongest warrior not once, but twice. He had lost his soul to become the strongest…

Misao was aware of the level of repentance Aoshi felt he had to atone for. She never argued against his stint at the temple, and she dutifully waited for him up to a certain point. She supposed her decision to 'turn the campaign around' occurred within a few weeks prior to her first encounter with Haruto-san. She had already turned eighteen, and it was summer. She remembered the lingering stickiness, the lazy scent of flowers and crushed grass in the air, of melting tar on the roads and sweat. She had just come by the temple, only to see that Aoshi-sama had gone, the priests claiming he had not stepped in the entire day. Disgruntled, discouraged and hot, Misao stood with the steaming teapot and came to a decision. She was eighteen, well into her marriageable years, and she had no prospects: nothing to speak of in her favor, and no direction in life. She sincerely loved Aoshi, wished to meet his approval, to garner his smiles and feel his affection in return, but she knew she couldn't _force_ the issue. She was standing outside the temple, in stifling heat, her yukata clinging to her sweating skin and hair plastered to her face. The tea was also hot, and all she could think was how _forced_ she was, how affected, and unnecessarily stressful she must be to all who encountered her. Her efforts were rendered transparent, embarrassingly so… from then on, she vowed, she would reverse the order of priorities. She still wished to have him smile, to find true, deep contentment in his life. She just wished to do so without injecting herself needlessly into the picture.

The decision had been a smart one. Her family relaxed—and Misao hadn't realized that they were tense, weighed with the expectations and anticipations Misao had mounted—and she relaxed with them. Aoshi came in and out of the Aoiya more, although Misao was certain that his added presence had much more to do with his 'project' under wraps than it did with her more calculated absence. She found herself asking more questions of a self-reflective nature, and took on more responsibilities, considered her status as a woman deeply, and made her way out to town to expose herself more to society. Then, she met Inoue Haruto, and the beginnings of a great friendship emerged. 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Decorum

AN: Sorry for the delay... disclaimers are the usual and nothing has changed; this is not mine.

* * *

Misao knew she was dreaming again. She recognized the recurring images and feelings she was experiencing as permission to relax and enjoy the dream as it unraveled. This was the third—or perhaps even fourth—time she had dreamt this scenario. Like before, she was kneeling by the porch, leaning down to pour some tea for her companion when the complicated knot that held her updo together fell out, unraveling her hair so that it spilled over her shoulders. She held her breath, awaiting her companion's answer, because it was what he said that would trigger the rest of the dream.

"_Misao, when did your hair grow so long?"_

Just like the other times, the incredulity of the male voice, familiar yet hoarse, cut through her in dull surprise, and she looked down disbelievingly at herself. Hair that should just now be growing past her shoulder blades streamed over her arms, into the tea set, over the delicate rice cakes, and onto the floor. It poured over the porch and onto the steps; it seemed like it would never stop growing. She stared at the hair growing lush and thick with a sense of trickling anticipation. Then, she looked at her companion, her mouth open in question and—

She suddenly woke up. This had happened the last few times as well. She never knew what would cause the interruption—if it was some disturbance in the world outside her dream, or if there were something in her that would knowingly keep her from uncovering the identity of her companion. At first, she would assume that it was Aoshi-sama, and while the low timbre of his voice would match that of the unidentified man, the hoarse quality certainly didn't. Aoshi-sama sounded cold, reserved, and sometimes even harsh, but never hoarse. She had yet to see him lose control enough to not rein in the even tone of his voice. In fact, she was beginning to think that her companion in the dream was…

A sharp rap drummed once, twice against her bedroom door. Then, silence. Misao blinked blurrily, and then called out in a gravelly voice, "Yes, Jiya? Is that you?"

A few seconds passed, long enough where Misao contemplated getting up and answering the door herself when she heard Aoshi's voice: "Misao, it is a bit early still, but I wish to see you before the morning shift begins."

Bemused, Misao responded quietly, sleep still lingering in her voice, "That would be fine, Aoshi-sama."

Misao rustled out of her covers and got up to begin her morning ablutions when she realized that she didn't hear Aoshi-sama's steps move away from her door. She hesitated, and then called out, "Aoshi-sama?"

The sound of wood creaking, then a voice even quieter, lower than hers, "Do not worry about bringing me tea. This should not take too long."

Misao licked her lips, and then nodded. "Alright," she said, her voice quavering a bit, "I'll be down shortly."

This time, the sound of his silent steps retreating met her ears, but Misao went through the motions of dressing and fixing her hair absentmindedly. Still in the hazy state between dreaming and reality, she mulled over a few nagging questions. _What did Aoshi-sama wish to speak to her about? How long had he been standing there? Had she said anything aloud in her sleep?_

Most importantly, in these wan early morning hours, she realized that the voice she had heard in her dreams was not his. _If her companion in the dream was not Aoshi-sama, then who was it? _

It was with these puzzling thoughts that she entered Aoshi's study. Realizing that he wasn't there at the moment, Misao shrugged and sat down in the seat before the desk. The lamp was burning strongly and the ink on his opened journal was still wet, so he must have stepped away for a moment. Using this moment of solitude, Misao took in the familiar view of the Okashira's office with a rueful sense of irony. She too had once called this office hers. Almost out of habit, Misao then reached out for the tea set and noticed as poured tea for two that the tea appeared to be the right temperature and color. It must have been steeping for a while. She would be sure to thank Okon or Omasu for the thankless task of bringing tea up so early in the morning. She felt the air behind her stir and stood automatically out of respect. Despite the fact that she had carelessly entered the office and poured the tea first in his absence, deference to the Okashira was as much a part of her as was her oftentimes-contrary behavior. Aoshi made no comment about the discrepancy of her acts; he had grown accustomed to them by now. Sitting down behind his desk, Misao mimicked his movements and also reclaimed her seat. As she passed the tea to him, Aoshi spoke, "I met with your friends Inoue Haruto and Chieko."

Misao nodded, her two hands cupping the tea mug as she blew over the hot beverage. Aoshi leveled his eyes at her, and she resisted the urge to squirm again. "It came to my attention that I have not inquired how long you have been taking lessons with them."  
Misao resisted the desire to huff aloud. _This again!_ Instead of throwing her hands up in protest, she put down the cup carefully and clenched them in her lap. "Is this a matter of concern?"

Aoshi continued to peer down at her, his hair brushing over his eyes and his mouth firm and inscrutable, "I met both of them yesterday; they expressed their regret that you were unable to join them."

Misao remained stubbornly quiet. If there were a point to this discussion, Aoshi-sama sure as hell would have to raise the issue himself.

A minute or two stretched between them sipping tea quietly together before Aoshi put his cup down. "Their family owns a clean business, appear to do fruitful and honest trade, and their two children appear to be fully formed adults." A few more moments passed before Aoshi spoke again, "Inoue Chieko had all the manners and appearances of a very fine lady. You will do well by her."

Misao pretended to fiddle with the end of her haphazard braid, resisting the urge to look up at her okashira. There was something in Aoshi-sama's voice when he had mentioned Chieko-san, some sort of inflection in the voice that evoked more than just the usual enunciation of daily matters and issues. Surprisingly, she felt unwilling to rise to the bait; however unintentional Aoshi-sama may have meant those words. There was nothing to gain at the possibility of intrigue. More than anything, she wanted to know why Haruto-san failed to pass with the same recommendation his younger sister had received. When she voiced this discrepancy, noting that all of this would not be possible should she have failed to meet him first, she looked up to see that Aoshi had already moved his focus to the journals before him, a signal that the meeting was drawing to a close.

"Inoue Chieko is your etiquette tutor, is she not? I do not see how Inoue Haruto would require my recommendation to be your companion in your comings and goings."

Misao felt no thrill at these admissions. In fact, she had felt disappointed with herself. Feeling defensive at the recent onslaught of Aoshi-sama's questions, she had resorted to an old tactic of challenging Aoshi's judgment with the hopes that he would reveal his hand. It made her feel juvenile, needy, and petty. She lowered her eyes and then waited to be dismissed. She could feel Aoshi's eyes settling on her face again, but instead of meeting them, she gathered the tea things on the tray. When he spoke his dismissal, Misao gave a curt bow and then left the room silently. Putting the tray aside in the kitchen, only to hear grumblings from Okon about dishwork first thing in the morning, Misao felt conflicting emotions bubble up in her throat to the point where she had to leave. She threw herself upstairs, her hair tossing wildly before she threw herself down in front of the mirror and tore the clasp off her low ponytail. She never wore her braid anymore. Omasu and Okon had insisted that she adopt a more refined presence to serve at the restaurant, and so along with the kimono and the etiquette lessons, Misao had begun to gather her hair into a simple yet elegant bun. She breathed through her nose to calm herself. She wanted nothing to do with Aoshi-sama for the rest of the day.

* * *

As the sun crept in the sky towards the midway point, a carrier bird landed by the office window. Aoshi retrieved the letter, and then mulled over the numbers in his most recent report. Things were progressing much faster than he had anticipated when he started planning last year. Should his investments go according to plan, he could count on having a definite answer for Okina in the coming spring. Recalling his tense and unsuccessful attempt to have Misao open up to him, he hated to consider taking such a long trek, especially as the weather grew colder. There was no arguing with it; however, since he needed to get the most of the development work done before winter. Still, he would talk to Misao today before leaving and wish her farewell. There was something in her demeanor that appeared to escape him. In light of her recent character change, he had begun to question her motives. She was gradually distancing herself, not only from him but from all the others as well. While none but Okina found this out of the norm, Aoshi found it troubling that Misao seemed to have deflated a bit. He could see that she still gave her work at the Aoiya her all, but her heart wasn't in it. She had also given up training altogether, another startling development in Aoshi's books. He hoped that new company and the opportunity to bond with another woman would kindle some of the familiar light in Misao's eyes.

The bustle in the Aoiya for lunch started several hours in advance, and since they were short-staffed, Misao found herself in the back of the kitchen chopping onions with the rest of the crew. She sniffed quietly, willing herself to keep the tears at bay. Damn these onions! She had never reacted so forcibly to them before. Wiping her eyes with her apron skirt, she looked up and started. Aoshi was looking down at her, his brow furrowed only slightly to reveal his consternation. Misao put the knife down and wiped her hands on her apron skirt. "Is there anything you need, Aoshi-sama?"

He looked at her face attentively, enough to make Misao embarrassed. "Mou," she growled, stomping her feet, "I know I'm tearing up and my nose is red, but I assure you I am not crying out of sentiment!"

The look in Aoshi's eyes alleviated, his eyes lighter, greyer as he nodded, "Misao, I will be away for a few days—five, maybe even a week. Tell Okina of my departure."

Misao nodded, her eyes deliberately focused on a spot past his shoulder. She did not want to engage in more dialogue with him, lest he drive her mad! Apparently, he was having none of that. Aoshi shifted forward a bit, forcing her to meet his eyes, "Misao, there was no ill intent in the questions I asked you earlier."

Misao looked at her feet next. Aoshi took up so much of her range of sight, he left her little recourse. "I know," she whispered, "I'm sorry I lost my temper at you—it was not very respectful."

A huff of air fanned across her cheeks. Her head shot up, eyes wide. _Was he—?_

"Misao," Aoshi said without betraying any sign of humor, "I never doubt that you respect me."

She was still squinting up at him with blurry eyes—just now, did he really…

"Goodbye, Misao," he intoned simply. Shouldering his briefcase before turning towards the back entrance, he turned his head slightly to add, "Enjoy your lessons."

Misao barely caught the tail end of his words. She was busily attempting to glean whether Aoshi-sama had given in to a moment of… good humor. If so, she was convinced that the world conspired against her. If she was the butt of Aoshi's jokes on top of everyone else's, she could consider herself hopeless.

* * *

The days passed by in a blur. Between the shifts at the Aoiya, and the etiquette lessons she passed in gaiety with Chieko and Haruto things were so busy that Aoshi's absence had slipped Misao's mind quite easily. At the moment, her bright eyes were alight with excitement—she was about to perform her very first British tea ceremony.

"Now, Misao—no, just one hand!" Chieko chided gently, as she guided Misao through the process. Haruto sprawled over the ottomon, laughed as he waved his cigar, "Chieko, you may as well throw in the towel. That one's a lost cause."

A scone flew over and narrowly missed his head. Looking up in mock indignation, Haruto was greeted with an arch and mischievous Misao who stuck her tongue out at him and retorted, "I'd like to see you try and successfully pull this off on your first attempt—in a corset, heels, and hairpins digging into your skull."

Haruto chewed on his cigar, completing the image of debonair rakishness, impeccable in his woolen suit and top hat, "As they say, beauty is pain, and to see you in pain is beautiful."

Chieko's hands paused, and Misao blushed deeply. This was not the first of such moments; Haruto sometimes would say _such_ _things_. She didn't know what he meant exactly, but it would make the air stop, and Chieko would always react with such stiffness…

Misao coughed lightly, and then grabbed the teapot out of Chieko's hands, "Now, let me…"

As she poured the tea, Misao opted to focus at the task at hand, her head bent and her cheeks still flushed. Meanwhile, the siblings exchanged a meaningful glance, one look coy, and the other carrying a warning.

* * *

Aoshi had been away from home for five days. They seemed to grow longer the more he stayed away, but at last, he was on the road home. He had overseen the development of the project he had invested in for the past year, and had added a couple more structural changes that he was satisfied with. As the acting okashira, he found a part of the challenge was to find supplementary yet utterly necessary businesses that would provide a front for the Oniwabanshuu. He was by no means an idealist—the age of the ninja was coming to a close. He knew; however, from conversations with well-traveled partners from all over the globe—Macau, Britain, Spain—that information grew to mean more and that the surveillance network was experiencing a higher volume of requests the more the world seemed to connect. The need for discrete interlopers and sophisticated spies would never go out of business completely, but Aoshi knew that an ancillary enterprise would also provide a credible cover and a shroud of legitimacy to all of the organization's endeavors. As such, this new project would require that he spend more and more time away from Kyoto, which was a prospect that gave him little pleasure. Regardless of his demeanor, Aoshi had always considered Kyoto home. The others knew him so well by now that they knew too that his loyalty was fixed with them, and any project that would take him away for significant lengths of time would entail a very calculated risk. The only request he had made of Okina once he had consulted the older man and received his approval was to keep Misao in the dark, at least for the moment. He still wasn't certain if this was the best course of action; after five days, she was bound to be full of questions. He did consider; however, that it was the best course of action, because he found lately that he was unable to read her as easily as he had before. Before, her affections lay decidedly with him. Now, that joy that would light up her eyes was gone. Instead, he found that while her mannerisms and demeanor towards him remained the same, that she was alternately testy and hesitant around him. From past experience, he had decided to ride out this stage in Misao's life, certain that she would more or less transition out of whatever it was that was bothering her. The one thing that gave him encouragement was her sudden interest in etiquette: that she was self-aware enough to consider how she presented herself to the world signaled a depth of maturity that she had until this point forgone with glib ease. From what he had gleaned from the Inoue family, Misao had found a safe space to experiment with the new protocol, but in the midst of friends so that such a transition would allow her to assimilate these new skills with the most natural of manners possible.

* * *

Chieko secretly found Misao's manners horrible; that girl had her work cut out for her. She knew that the younger woman was Haruto's pet of the moment, but found surprising pleasure in hearing that she came from a good family. While an orphan, everyone in Kyoto had known the Makimachi family; they were practically petty lords, although always shrouded in mystery and the slightest hint of danger. Their father used to speak of the Makimachi patriarch, who was wont to patron the shop from time to time for fine ink, with the highest degree of respect. When Haruto mentioned casually that he had run into the only child of the late Makimachi Isao, their father was quick to encourage that they both be proactive in soliciting her company. Haruto, in his roundabout way, managed to attract the young lady's attention soon enough, and then introductions were in order. That the best guise he could find would be that she would offer etiquette lessons was solid enough; she had been known in Edo for her pretty manners, before the last promise had fallen through…

As for their first meeting, Chieko had found her serviceable, but nothing about stood out immensely: she was pretty enough, in that fresh, uncalculating way. She knew not of the advantages of makeup, or decoration. Her hair was simply adorned, and she opted for a plain yukata, albeit in the best of navy silk. She wore it as if she knew not of its quality, her actions uninhibited and her face easy to read. In fact, Chieko was certain that she would bore of this young, inexperienced chit soon enough, but Haruto remained pleasant in his demeanor, obliging, even. She had been ready to throw the towel and leave him to fend for himself when a tall, dark man had come a few days ago to deliver her apologies in her stead. Now there was a handsome, complex man. After introducing himself to the two siblings, Chieko had put one and one together, realizing that this was indeed the Aoshi-sama that Misao had constantly referred to. She and her brother were convinced that the Aoshi-sama she had mentioned was an old man, but this one… this one appeared to be sculpted out of pure rock. After he had introduced himself, Shinomori-san had looked at each of them contemplatively, and Chieko felt a brief _frisson_ take over when those grey eyes landed on her. Behind those two lay a story, indeed. A story she was certain to get around. She gathered her fans, closing them with a decisive snap. Today, she had promised to show Misao different examples of Western dance. Ironically, Japanese fans were _de_ _rigeur_ in the West right now, so for her to demonstrate a Spanish dance with Japanese fans did not put her much outside of genteel fashion… Biting her lips wistfully, Chieko allowed herself a rare moment of longing for times past—the glittering, uproarious past. Shaking her head of such fanciful thoughts, she gathered her fine things and left for the courtyard, where she was certain to see her brother flirt shamelessly with the young Misao-chan.

Misao found it hard to believe what she saw, just as hard as she found it to ignore Haruto's touch. The dance Chieko-san had obligingly started was, in a word—novel, if not a bit provocative. The tight, form-fitting black lace dress, with its outrageous stiff skirt, dipped and curved suggestively, with the two fans in the elder Inoue's hands looking distinctly out of place in her hands as she danced sinuously to the music. The Inoue household was relatively progressive in that they were of a few to own a gramophone, the new Western invention that had taken Japan by storm. As dramatic, stormy music warbled out of the contraption, Chieko-san danced and danced. The longer she danced, the closer Haruto seemed to be until she found that he had taken hold of her arm and was gently stroking the inside of her wrist. Misao felt something close to agony—_when would this wretched performance end?_ Haruto, mistaking her fretful behavior for a fit of nerves, smiled at her in a manner that would normally make her grin right back at him, but at this moment, Misao was certain that this was not the proper reaction that he would be anticipating. In fact, Misao wasn't certain at all where things were going with Haruto, and felt the vague stirrings of suspicion surrounding her circumstances, but with a force of will, she forced such thoughts down and forced herself to stomach the dance for the rest of its duration. _Oh, what had she been thinking when she suggested this demonstration?_

* * *

Aoshi shod his dusty shoes and shrugged off his Western topcoat with no discernible relief, but Okina could tell from the young man's shoulders that he was in need of some rest. "Welcome home, Aoshi," he intoned with a brief nod as befitting their respective statuses, "I hope your travels have led you to some promising signs of progress."

Aoshi folded the topcoat gently over his arm, before nodding: "There is no reason to believe of any great delay in the construction of this new property. I will need to go back shortly before the weather worsens to ensure that the construction will keep throughout the winter."

Okina nodded somewhat absentmindedly, and Aoshi turned to pick up his briefcase and head for the office when something occurred to him to ask the older man, "And Misao? Her behavior has been rather odd lately, and I have heard from her myself that she is keeping company with a young man and his sister…"

Okina stroked his beard rather slowly, his words hesitant: "The Inoues, yes. She has been spending time with them for the last few months, in fact. Omasu and Okon claim that she met the lad first, and then got introduced to the older sister in hopes that Misao would take etiquette lessons from her."

A moment of silence hung between the men, and Aoshi could feel a decided air of disapproval from the older man before he continued, "From what I know, Misao has been coming home later and later the longer she has been running in the same circle."

"Has she been lax at performing her duties?"

"No, nothing of the sort. It's more that she seems to disappear once immediate need for her here at the Aoiya has been answered. She has even dropped training, which was something that she would be hardpressed to do a year ago."

Aoshi nodded, his head inclined as he considered Okina's reaction. Then he got up to drop his things off at the office. "Okina," he intoned, "Do not worry about sending Kuro or Shiro to fetch Misao. I will go there myself."

Okina hid a smile. Young folk never ceased to entertain.

Aoshi made his way down to the shop, noticing that while a sign graced its front, signaling that the shop was closed, the front door had been overlooked and was open slightly ajar. He frowned slightly at such carelessness and walked into the shop, careful to lock the door behind him. He then noticed that light appeared to be streaming through the cracks of the back door, and opened it to find a courtyard, sumptuously lit up with lanterns. And in the midst of the courtyard, bathed in golden lights, a young lady in black lace was dancing. She moved sinuously, suggestive in Western dance, and Aoshi found his brow furrowing. Where was Misao? Surely that was not her—

The dancer's eyes were warm and sharp, and they caught his in a moment of coy complicity and a bit of humor. While Misao was wont to be sly and humorous herself, she never slanted her face at such an angle, offering the best of her features, nor did she ever paint her lips so. Also, the eyes that gazed brazenly back at him were a deep brown color, while Misao's were blue. No, this was Inoue Chieko, putting on a performance. He noticed that her eyes were slanting towards a direction slightly to his left, and when he followed it, he saw the darker, huddled backs of what appeared to be Inoue Haruto and Misao. It was a bit dark, but it appeared that Haruto was leaning into her, whereas Misao sat with a straight back, her posture perfect without fault. Chieko's eyes crinkled in amusement as her dance closed to a halt. Then, she gave a ceremonious, dramatic bow. Aoshi saw that Haruto reluctantly sat back in his seat at the end of his sister's dance, which made visible the fact that his hand was wrapped around Misao's. Misao, uncertain of what to do next, made to stand up and clap, gingerly sliding her wrist out of his grip. Haruto also stood, his hold on her tightening as he leaned over with a smile and whispered a few words into her ears. Misao shook her head vehemently, her stance a familiar one: she was ready to express her indignation. Chieko, noticing the initial signs of a disagreement, intervened smoothly, "There appears to be a guest who had come in for the last half of this _flamenco_ demonstration." The Haruto boy and Misao veered around, and Misao, unaware that he had released his hold of her arm, raised her hand up to her mouth in such artless bewilderment that for a moment, Aoshi wished to take her with him without giving his leave. He reeled in his reactions by bowing crisply, "The dance was well performed—my commendations to you, Inoue-san."

Haruto laughed, "My sister, the performer!"

Aoshi was quick to notice the slight ripple over the elder sister's mouth, a slight turn to the brow. Misao, ignorant of the slight yet all too sensitive to the tension permeating the air, murmured, "Chieko-san, it was beautiful. Thank you so much for showing me this dance. At another time—"

Aoshi intervened smoothly, "Another time, perhaps. Misao has to return to the Aoiya. Okina has matters he wishes to discuss with her."

Now it was Misao's turn to furrow her brow, and she did so more emphatically, with none of the artfulness the other lady displayed. Her respect towards him was well engrained; however, so she did not appear to object greatly. Bowing and saying her goodbyes prettily, she took her leave. The two siblings also gave her graceful goodbyes, but Misao could see a growing strain between them, and adding to the foreign feelings this evening had awakened in her, Misao was quite eager to return to the Aoiya, even if it was with Aoshi-sama. She looked up at him in consternation: she had received no news that he would return today. His gaze was not upon her; however, but instead appeared to be contemplating Chieko-san with a deliberate and steady perusal. Misao blushed and hung her head. _This day could not end soon enough_.

Aoshi also made his farewells, and the two left the shop. Walking side by side, Misao held her breath. She had no idea what was going through Aoshi-sama's mind, and she held her tongue with hopes that this moment would go without a hiccup.

"This Inoue Chieko… has she taught you this dance?"

Misao blinked. Not quite the question she had been anticipating. "No," she replied slowly, "This was the first time I had ever seen her dance."

Aoshi said nothing in response. They had almost reached the Aoiya when he observed, "She is well practiced in more than Japanese culture. Has she ever mentioned training or living abroad?"

Misao shrugged inelegantly, "Nothing more than trips here or there. Haruto speaks more about his travels—it is his responsibility to inherit the family business."

Aoshi nodded, and then replied, "Okina has expressed concern—"

Misao threw her hands up suddenly, "Mou! If Okina has concerns, he knows where to find me!"

Aoshi was not to be had.

She suddenly felt very tired, almost fatigued. Tears threatened to escape her eyes, and she turned her back to the older man and said in an unsteady voice, "I am sorry, Aoshi-sama. I have had a long day, and would like to be alone right now."

With silence at her back, Misao bounded up the stairs, wishing for nothing more than the comfort of her bed and blissful oblivion of sleep.

A few hours later, Misao lay awake in her dark room, unable to sleep. Some homecoming she gave Aoshi-sama. Her campaign for self-improvement seemed to be off to a rocky start—as soon as she had determined to stay out of the picture whenever Aoshi was concerned, he seemed to act in manners contrary to what she had expected. After a good cry she was no longer angry with him or herself. She knew that old habits were hard to break, and she knew that, when push came to shove, that Aoshi-sama was as incapable of seeing her romantically as she was of seeing Kuro and Shiro romantically. They were all too bound by family, too scarred by past experiences yet too loyal to ever loosen such bonds. She gathered that Aoshi-sama would sooner find Chieko-san attractive in comparison. Misao sighed. A few years ago—oh, who was she kidding—even a year ago, she would have been so torn up over the idea of Aoshi finding any other woman attractive, but now Misao only felt dull stirrings. She found that perhaps there was the promise of something else. Someone who would find her attractive and appreciate her for who she was, not who she could never be. And she found that she could see this happen all the more as time passed, indeed, it seemed more unlikely that Aoshi-sama would ever see her differently. She hoped she was coming closer to the point where she would happily take another who would be willing to love her in his stead. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Pique**

_AN: A short chapter, but it packs a punch, I promise._

* * *

Misao sneezed. Warily, she opened her eyes and looked around the kitchen, immediately catching identical, warning glares from Okon and Omasu.

"For heaven's sake, Misao—put something _on_!"

"You're already a young woman! You should know when to cover yourself up… instead of getting _sick_ and passing it around to others more responsible than _you_!"

"Shoo!"

_Sheesh_. From the sound of it, they both made it seem like she made a habit of walking around the Aoiya barely decent.

After being banned from the kitchen, Misao loped upstairs to grab a shawl, her shoulders hunching slightly to ward off the morning chill. The tail end of summer had changed abruptly from breezy days with slight, nocturnal frostiness into windy, brittle weather that thrust Kyoto deep into autumn in what felt like a matter of days.

Misao mulled over the sudden shift in seasons with a slight feeling of apprehension. The city barely had enough time to cull all of its produce for a complete harvest season, and there was enough talk going around town about not having a surplus, and having to dig into the silos to make do for the upcoming winter. Although Kyoto had experienced its share of bitter winters, the last time Misao could remember a lean winter was as a young child when the Aoiya had chipped in heavily to support the local community through the long months. She must have been quite young—perhaps, her father had even still been alive…

From the way that city planners, farmers, business owners and the like were gossiping and haranguing like fisherman's wives, Kyoto was in for another of these winter blights. Even Kuro and Shiro had to come back from their fieldwork earlier than usual to concentrate on the Aoiya, but in the past few summers, they had taken the opportunity to spend their off-hours working in the city. In warmer weather, Kuro had taken to helping farmers and learning irrigation techniques, and Shiro had taken the winter season as a time to study, oddly enough, for a city position in civic engineering. When he wasn't immersed in books, he was out around the city with several foreign mentors in an ongoing initiative to modernize the streets of Kyoto. Aoshi-sama had really taken to the idea, and the two men could often be seen talking about the finer points of civic engineering and architecture. A few years ago, Misao would be hard-pressed to see Aoshi interact so much with the others. Not that he had developed into a complete busybody; none would ever consider Aoshi-sama a consummate conversationalist. Rather, he seemed to have slowly grown accustomed to his surroundings, to the point where interaction seemed to occur organically. What had surprised Misao was that this had not occurred to her to be a significant development—much time had passed since Aoshi-sama had come home—yet truth be told, she was no closer to knowing the mind of the man, let alone his heart.

Now, come to think of it, Aoshi-sama wasn't going on any of his 'long walks', nor was he venturing out on 'business meetings' anymore. _Huh_. Nor had he or Okina seen it fit to divulge any reason, any information as to why he would go on these irregular excursions for the past year. Misao felt a thread of curiosity tighten, and made herself loosen its hold before it gained any heat; she was sure that the outcome would present itself at the right moment. Shaking her head, she entered her room and picked up her shawl. After a moment's thought, she reached over for her overcoat as well—they had gotten their last batch of _hachiya_ persimmons for the season, and she knew Jiya loved it when they were preserved. She'd pick up the fruit crate and then take it to the cellar to lay the fruit out to dry. If she hurried, she'd be able to meet Haruto and Chieko-san for tea by late afternoon.

By the time Misao had completed her task, it was a bit before noon and she was feeling triumphant. Hopefully this would appease Okina so he'd make much less of a fuss each time she went out to visit the Inoues. Lately, Jiya had taken to theatrical moping and a bit of histrionics in his attempt to call her out on her frequent comings and goings. Truthfully, it was hilarious, but she was also a bit annoyed with this recent development. She could recall a few years ago when she was lovelorn and shamelessly tailing Aoshi-sama everywhere that Jiya had suggested something similar to what she did now, and now he was flipping the tables on her again.

She brushed her hands off on the front of her old apron, straightening her back and rolling her neck to loosen the muscles. Then, she donned her gloves and picked up the empty bin and walked out of the cellar. She made her way through the front patio, and left the crate by the gardening shed, her eyes looking over some of the punctures and nicks she had left behind as a child, overzealous in her onmitsu training. She stood there for a moment, reminiscing shortly over her childhood memories as she felt the sun shine weakly on her back.

* * *

Misao did not know how she appeared to Aoshi from his view through the office window upstairs, but Aoshi was a master at keeping his thoughts to himself. Standing there in the bleak sunlight, her skin pale and stark against her worn apron and those grubby men's working gloves, she looked like a farmer's young, washed-out wife. Aoshi found that he did not like the sight—that was not what he had pictured for her, surely the late Okashira did not have such designs for his daughter either. Aoshi knew that Misao was growing fatigued. Between the demands of her schedule at the Aoiya, the full harvest, her lingering responsibilities in Oniwabanshuu matters, and her ongoing social obligations to the Inoues in town, he knew that something would have to give soon. He also knew that the source of Misao's fatigue lay not only in the grueling schedule, but rather, some inner turmoil, perhaps a period of doubt. She had been so easy to read, even a year ago. Now, he could see that she set up levels of expression and emotion appealing to those around her, and while these were all genuine, and very direct, he found that there seemed to be other thoughts that lay tucked behind these covers. He couldn't deduce what they were; he knew the root of these problems went deeper, but these discoveries unanticipated and disquieting, nonetheless. Aoshi's mind had suggested insidiously, several times, what Okina had said aloud. He did not trust the Inoues: he found that he doubted the boy's intentions, and he also considered the sister to be vague about where she had obtained her accomplishments. He was also generally aware of the young nouveau riche scene that the siblings regularly frequented in the city, and had kept a careful eye on them whenever Misao went into town to ensure that this remained a situation of _noblesse_ _oblige_. He had no objections with Misao's desire to conduct herself with a degree of maturity if not sophistication, nor did he find it necessary to suppress her desire to own a more nuanced awareness of her surroundings. Indeed, the Inoue siblings were worldly enough to initiate her in these matters, but if their integrity were found to be wanting, he would be hard-pressed to find reasons to allow her to continue in the same company.

If they could only make it through the winter without any setbacks…

* * *

By the time Misao joined the crew for lunch after the Aoiya closed, she had an hour to get to town. There wasn't nearly enough time for her to eat and get ready. She put her food down in dismay after noting the time, and gathered her shawl around her shoulders, making a motion to stand up, when Aoshi addressed her suddenly, "Do you intend to leave now?"

Misao blinked. "Why yes, I won't be able to make it in time if I were to head out later—"

Aoshi shook his head slightly, "Finish your meal, it would do you no good to grow ill from neglect. I'll take you there by carriage myself." With that, he apparently dismissed her and focused again on eating his own dish.

Misao colored slightly, but not from the attention, as she would have in the past. Feeling a bit like she had been chastened like a child, she gave the other diners at the table a hasty look. None had seemed to find this exchange amiss. Then why did she feel like she had been so put on the spot?

Neither Misao nor Aoshi seemed to notice Okina's smile, hidden behind the rim of his upheld teacup.

After the meal, Misao and Aoshi shared a quiet ride into town.

Misao appeared to fidget a bit, to which Aoshi gave no acknowledgment. She then sighed, and then uncharacteristically, crossed her arms in a defensive manner. "Aoshi-sama," she intoned darkly, "Not that I don't appreciate your concern, but what was that display earlier at lunchtime?"

Aoshi appeared to have not heard her at first, unmoving, his eyes fixed on the road. Misao uncrossed her arms, only to fuss with a strand that had fallen loose from her updo. She would wait him out—oh yes, she would.

"I am not a man for display," Aoshi finally responded, "and I know foolishness when I see it."

Misao colored instantly, and turned to him with snapping eyes, "I was not—"

"You have bitten off more than you can chew. Running around improperly attired, neglecting your body and health, and spreading yourself too thin between duties at the Aoiya and in town. It is demonstrative that Okina's decision was a wise one."

The air between them, while charged, had veered into more dangerous territory.

"Are you saying that this reflects my inability to lead—"

"Nothing of the sort. It only shows—"

"That, after all your—in fact, everyone's attempts—to cajole me into assimilating into normal life—"

"Misao."

She stopped, the tone from him a warning. "I did not say what you imply. You were not irresponsible or unfit in your tenure as an Okashira. I merely meant to observe that even in your attempts to integrate, the blending of your life as an onmitsu and a young lady have been wearing you thin. It is time to choose."

Misao looked at her hands, now folded in her lap, "Must I? Okon and Omasu seem to manage it well. I could pretend to be a part of the wait staff and—"  
Aoshi harshly replied, "You are _not_ like Okon and Omasu."

Misao shrank back, her eyes revealing for once a reaction, but of hurt. Aoshi, regretting the tone of voice, further clarified, "You were the okashira's daughter. You are the former okashira. I have been your guardian, and now I am your okashira. To society, you are not a part of the wait staff. You are a young woman and a lady. And, we will introduce you as such."

The words, while they did not entirely erase the memory of other words spoken harshly in the past, did enough to amend the spirit of confrontation between the two, and Misao settled back into her seat with her mouth firmly closed. For the rest of the ride the silence was prickly, if not a bit tense, but neither seemed particularly willing to break it.

* * *

"Really, what is taking Haruto so long? I wonder…" The frustration in this sisterly appeal took a tone of concern when Chieko noticed Misao's preoccupied appearance. "Misao, is there something that troubles you?"

Misao blinked, and looked over at Chieko, blue eyes all contrite, "Sumimasen! My mind has wandered…"

Chieko appeared to consider something before she put the tea set down definitively and snapped her fan shut, "Now, if you wish for me to lend an ear as your confidant, I would oblige."

The younger girl smiled weakly, cupping the teacup with both hands before shaking her head, "No, it's truly nothing!"

"Now, that won't do at all! Surely, with only your guardian and the help at the inn, there aren't many others of the same social standing that you can confide with!"

_The same social standing_…

Misao smiled wryly, before dipping her head and bringing the cup to her lips, "That is true."  
"And matters of the heart remain here in the strictest of confidence."

Misao's blue eyes were big, earnest and grave, "I would hope so."

"Really, Misao-chan—what has gotten into you? You know I have your best interests at heart."

Misao put the cup down and then stood up to face the window, catching a glimpse of the sun lowering down in the rose-tinted sky, "I'm afraid I don't know how to do this," she said, flinging her arm out in an expression of anguish indicating a feeling much deeper than that born of a mere frustration with etiquette.

Chieko's eyes narrowed. _Ah, that_…

"Do you mean… what is expected of us as women to uphold as our role in society?"

Misao's eyes flashed as she looked back at the older woman, "Yes! Exactly that! How am I supposed to find satisfaction with—"

"Forgive me for interrupting you, Misao-chan," Chieko interjected smoothly, "yet this is a time-old issue that is not easily resolved with direct rebellion. The best to do with this is to play the cards one is dealt."

Misao tossed her head impatiently, "I _know_ this, believe me—I truly do, but I am a bit incredulous that my _family_ places the same emphasis on this… shallowness as everybody else!"

"This _shallowness_, as you so put it, can make something of you in this society," Chieko retorted icily, "And not everybody can choose their allies or make their own decisions in this world."

Misao appeared chastised, "Forgive me, I do not wish to belittle what I have learned from you thus far."

Chieko archly smiled, "Forgiven. Note that I too shared your sentiments when I was younger."

She stood to join Misao by the window. "I fell in love with a young man below me in social standing." A tone of slight bitterness marred the smooth quality of her voice. "I thought I could have him."

Misao looked on, spellbound.

"My father found out about our… correspondence, and found it alarming. He then bundled me off to visit our aunts in Hong Kong. I was rebellious, and duly punished for it. Years of etiquette lessons which at first were a true sense of torture, but my aunts sensed my talent in performance, and soon these lessons became expensive trips to Beijing, London, Paris… now I have had a taste of the life afforded by 'excellent comportment', and here I am, a marriageable lady in Kyoto."

A companionable silence filled the room, as did the last rays of the dying sun, while Misao appeared to mull over Chieko's words.

"And what of love?"

These words, tremulously offered, seemed to unfurl in the room like the scent of lit candles, or warm wood chips burning in an orderly fire.

Chieko nodded sharply and curled her lip. "True," she noted adamantly, the word of concession at odds with her seditious demeanor, "But I am young… for now. I had invested in love in ways that was all the more precious for being unrequited. Now, I'm going to be practical with a vengeance. What's wrong with settling? There is a romance in that, too, and I am a warm-blooded woman."

Throughout all this, Misao watched Chieko with mirroring blue eyes. She felt something unfurl from within, and could stomach no more.

* * *

After the sun had shortly set, and the lesson completed, the two women were putting the tea set in order to store for the next time when the front door opened, bells jingling merrily. Misao's head jerked up immediately. _Haruto was finally here!_

Chieko got up sedately, coming up to take the parcels from her brother's arms, before inquiring about his tardiness.

"Ah, such dulcet tones, my sweet sister!" Haruto needled charmingly, "Surely this was the voice you used to enchant half of Hong Kong!"

Chieko gave him another of her warning glances, "There was no such thing."  
"Right," Haruto smirked, "A thing of the past."

Chieko was silent, having turned her back to her brother as she stored the goods away. Her voice was muffled as she opened pantry doors to move the supplies into the cupboard, "Haruto, will you see Misao-chan safely back to the Aoiya?"

The ironic glint in her brother's eye disappeared when he looked down at the young lady beside him, "Why, the pleasure would be all mine."

Misao stood slowly, her mind processing these things even as she greeted Haruto-kun with a smile. Surely, he did not mean…

* * *

Misao sat waiting for Haruto by the storefront. Whatever Haruto had said to Chieko had angered her, and the parting had been tense and awkward. They had but taken three steps before the young man appeared to reconsider, and asked Misao to wait for him for a few minutes. Misao was grateful for the moment of solitude. Thoughts of Aoshi-sama being at turns… _sneaky_ and _overbearing_ as of late, and of Chieko's troubling words with her brother's insinuations of her past behavior made her head fairly spin. Misao gave a lusty sigh and gave into the guilty urge to crack her fingers with gusto. With Aoshi-sama, she didn't have the faintest idea of how to handle him. The one moment she appeared to leave him to his devices, there he was, doing unpredictable things! And he wouldn't just leave her in peace! The whole reason why she had been so persistent in getting Aoshi-sama to open up to her was that she had been convinced, with child-like fervor, that they were meant to always be together. With the two of them, it had always felt like a matter of time. As a young girl, Misao would feel the word almost trickle up her spine. _Almost_, a whisper seemed to encourage, _almost_…

Now, she felt like that time perhaps had been—not wasted, per se, but misallocated on such an endeavor. She had almost siphoned it out completely on a misplaced idea that such affection would necessarily lead to _romantic_ _love_. Now, after she had faced pressure from both Okina and Aoshi-sama to step down as Okashira of the Oniwabanshuu, and then similarly taken to task to acculturate herself as a young lady in Kyoto, she felt Aoshi-sama's investment in her more keenly. She herself had felt the risk, the gamble, of taking on such a personal project so late in the game, so to speak, but couldn't find it in herself to see why this would be such a bad idea. At the ripe age of nineteen, she knew that she was much older than the other girls she'd seen gadding about town, but now, after seeing Kaoru this past year, she knew that her chances slimmed down the more time she spent with her sights focused on Aoshi-sama only. Perhaps, this was the whole point all along. Perhaps, Aoshi-sama had meant this as an indirect way of showing her a wider picture, of pointing to the ways in which women made their way in the world, to equip her with the proper tools to succeed, and to reveal his hand in a decidedly fraternal—nay, perhaps even paternal interest in her wellbeing.

She stood when she heard the door bells ring again, and the sound of Haruto's clothes rustling as he stepped out into the night. She did not know how she looked to him then, bathing in the halo of the street lamps, her eyes alert and curious in their concern. He smiled at his companion warmly before offering his arm to her. The pair headed down the road back to the Aoiya in congenial silence.

From time to time, Misao stole surreptitious glances at her escort. Haruto too was decidedly handsome. His hair parted sleekly away from his face, yet artfully disheveled, and his eyes twinkled as he looked down cheekily at her, "See something you like, little miss?"

Misao smiled, but her eyes were serious when she asked, "Is there something the matter with Chieko-san?"

Haruto's eyes flickered, "No—she was only—yes," he finally admitted. "I have to admit that sometimes I tease her rather mercilessly, and this time she was hurt."  
Misao swatted him on the arm instinctively, and rather hard. Haruto yelped, and then laughed richly, "Now I know not to cross you, my bright, little bird!"

She blinked, "Little bird?"

The man had the decency to look a bit embarrassed, "I slipped—under duress mind you," he stipulated, his eyebrow wagging, "You have astonishing strength for such a slip of a thing."

"Don't be slippery," Misao hissed playfully, "what, you're making fun of my size now?"

"No such thing!" he cajoled, leaning a bit further so his lips brushed her ears. Misao shivered unintentionally at the contact, making the taller man pause for a bit. Then he stepped back slightly, and said in a much tighter voice, "I only meant good out of it."

Misao also stepped back, smoothing down her kimono skirts, "Ah, well I… how was I supposed to know that, idiot?"

"Idiot," Haruto huffed, his eyes creased with humor, "Such a winning way with people, it's no wonder you…"

Misao poked him savagely in the side with a slender finger, "I'd quit while I was ahead if I were you…"

Haruto wrapped both of his large hands over Misao's tiny shoulders, and Misao let him believe he had her pinned. He smiled winningly, and said, "See? Now you can't move. Now, sit still while I tell you…"

Misao rolled her eyes. In some ways, Haruto was like every other doltish male who had ever crossed her path. All men thought they knew better than she.

"…and, hey! Are you listening?"

And, they were so needy. Or at least, most were. Not Aoshi-sama.

"Fine, see if I ever try tell you anything else again."

* * *

Aoshi had observed the day fade into dusk with a niggling sense of… unrest. Now, it was a quarter past eight, and the moon rose, quartered by dark, inky clouds. He stood up decisively, and then strode out to fetch his coat. This was not tolerable by any means. He would get her himself.

Rather than fetch her by carriage this time, he left on foot. He found he would take the walk back to tell Misao a thing or two about her past conduct and advise her against a few things. Although, he couldn't be sure if she was aware of the impressions she was slowly giving the Inoues or if she had stoked those herself on purpose…

He took the brisk walk as a welcomed respite to the plans and budgets he had been honing for the upcoming fiscal year. With the upcoming winter promising to be hard-hitting, he'd have to set aside a substantial chunk for aid and relief supplies. He wasn't so certain his other project's deadline could be financed and met by the end of next spring, after all…

He walked, and thought, and considered the source of his restlessness. After a few minutes, he could hear the voices of others, of two others—a pair. The lilting voice of a woman, and the husky undertones of a male… a couple.

"It was hard on us, growing up—knowing Chieko had been sent to Hong Kong…"  
"I can imagine."

"I still think she had only _said_ things to Otousan at that point, but she was way too young to have carried out any of her threats. But you know how he is… you've met him. A few shameless words, and he carted her overseas."  
The woman murmured something in an undertone, and the depth and volume of the man's voice deflected somewhat as he presumably turned to address his companion directly, "No, and I know she hinted a bit at this, but when I visited her, I couldn't be certain that all she had said was untrue."

Silence filled the night as Aoshi slowly realized that the couple walking towards him consisted of the Inoue boy and Misao, strolling arm-in-arm back towards the Aoiya. He walked towards them resolutely, noiselessly when they appeared to suddenly stop again when the boy, with emotion choking his voice, said, "You can't possibly know how much this means, to be able to confide in you."

More whispers from Misao. Inoue appeared at first to bend his ear to hear her more clearly, but in the next few seconds, Aoshi saw that the angle of his head was wrong. Then, Aoshi resolutely turned on his heel, and headed back to the Aoiya. There was nothing he could do to contribute to the scene further.

* * *

Misao expected to feel a great number of things with her first kiss, but she certainly didn't expect to feel numb. Haruto pressed his fingers gently against her jawline, and cradling her head with his other hand, took her sigh as consent and kissed her more deeply. Misao, with the stirrings of indignation and regret, first considered to break off the kiss, but then fought her initial reaction down. The small, stubborn part of her that refused to die, was asking—even now—of Aoshi-sama. That would not do.

Love, in all its states—or non-states—of being was not enough. She knew that its very feasibility was waning. Now, she has begun to feel the preemptive stirrings of the call: _Too late, too late_…

When Haruto was telling her stories of his childhood without Chieko, shame and suspicion wrapped up with the loneliness of being left behind, Misao was reminded painfully of her own. He spoke of solitude, and curiosity, and his desire to get away from Japan and invited her to join him. Surely he had to be kidding, but the gesture was what warmed her. When it came down to it, it was his act in confiding in her that was the ultimate deciding factor for why Misao consented to share her first kiss with him.

* * *

A stolen kiss.

That boy-child had stolen a kiss from her.

The worst was—from the murmured undertones in Misao's voice and then her silence—that it appeared Misao had not been an unwilling participant.

For a while, he had thought that time stood still. Time froze for the man with bottomless guilt and endless sins to atone for. This went on for some time, until one day, he opened his eyes and saw that everyone around him had been growing, living, loving at their own respective places. He was the only one who had walked in place for the past few years. And Misao—Misao seemed to be walking right out of sight. She had intrigues, relationships, and thoughts that were unknown to him. Although he had addressed her in the same manner all her life, her ways of responding to him had changed drastically. No matter how much he had blindingly attempted to keep her walking in place with him, she had escaped him. The worst part was that she had seemed to break away so artlessly, without a second thought.

He sat in the darkness, in his office, immersed in coils and coils of thought. He lost track of time when he suddenly heard footsteps, and then, "Aoshi-sama? Is that you?"

Misao's voice, clear and inquisitive, rang behind his door, "I got home a bit ago, but saw that the light was on in the office and came up to investigate. Is everything fine?"

Aoshi could not detect anything out of the norm from her voice. Was she a practiced actress now? He responded gruffly, "No need to trouble yourself."

A moment of hesitation. He could picture her lingering by the closed door for a moment, before she wished him a goodnight and headed back to her room.

* * *

The next morning, Aoshi rose from bed early. When he came downstairs for his morning meal, Misao was there, her hair pulled into a rumpled bun, her eyes slightly sleepworn, but her face disarmingly open. She wished him a good morning with nary a slip and grumbled as Okina leered at her, batting him away as she reached over for a piece of fruit. After Okon gave her a list of tasks that needed to be completed, Misao looked them over and then looked up artlessly, confiding with him in a mock-whisper, "With mornings like these, why bother getting up?"

She then got up and left the kitchen to perform her daily chores.

Nothing seemed amiss except for the memory of what he had seen the night before. Was Misao so casual in her encounters? Could it be that this Inoue boy was not the first?

Afterwards, as fall progressed into colder weather, Aoshi's eyes would linger over Misao from time to time, but she never appeared to act abnormally. In fact, Okina had noted, with some glee, that Misao seemed to have put a temporary hiatus on her etiquette lessons on account of the worsening weather. If anything, her fatigue and ennui seemed to let up a bit, and she was back to warm smiles and steady hands in the Aoiya.

Aoshi, however, was not one to ever presume. In the stealth arts of combat, tradition and martial pedagogy had all agreed on one thing: to presume knowledge of the enemy was to embrace unforeseen death. As such, of all the faults the man was presumed to own, presumption was not one of them. He could, however, be blindsided, although such occurrences were few. It was to some degree of surprise and consternation then that he found himself witness to Misao in a state that he had always been a recipient of, and never a bystander. For the past few months, he had seen Misao fret and pace over this boy, yet the most curious thing was that—for all of his skills and observations—he couldn't vouch that her thoughts about Inoue Haruto necessarily correlated to feelings about said boy. For the past year, the two had been attached at the hip, and then suddenly, there was a period of distance, of slack between them. Okina had been overjoyed to see Misao 'return home', but there were moments when Misao would be unguarded, and her eyes would reflect riotous, chaotic thought. Her mind was closed to him; this was the furthest she had put herself from him.

Then one night, Aoshi was unintentionally privy to the whisperings between the Aoiya women. He knew that if Okina had known of his position, he would be the recipient of sly innuendos for years, but he had truly not intended for this to happen. In the back of the Aoiya, the inn had a bathhouse that they opened in colder weather, and after a late-night training session, he had intended to use it, since others preferred to use the bath during earlier hours of the day. As he approached the bathhouse, he could hear voices carry clearly across the water of Okon and Omasu's curious pryings. He turned to head back to the Aoiya when he heard a third occupant respond hesitantly, "With Haruto, there is this slow, sliding into a _situation_—with Aoshi-sama, I feel like I never even had a choice—!"

"Then why did you—"

"I told Haruto-kun I needed a break from the lessons to think things out."

"After just one kiss?"

"Well, I had thought so too, but a few days later, he stopped by while I was on my lunch break and repeated his offer to take me abroad."

Muffled curses, shouts, and incredulous expressions filled the bathhouse before Misao fiercely shushed them, "I know, _I know_!"

"I first thought he was kidding, but his eyes were so serious, and his voice so earnest… I told him I would have to think about it."

"Where would he take you?"

"Presumably Hong Kong, where his family and trade business connections are strongest."

"I see…"

Before all the women's questions eventually died out into a stunned silence, Aoshi had long left the premises.

* * *

AN: three more chapters to go!


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